No Happy Ending
by zedrobber
Summary: <html><head></head>Graverobber knows he can never have a happy ending...he just doesn't care.</html>


Graverobbers don't get happy endings- not like in the fairytales, anyway.

I keep telling myself that; someday, it has to fall apart. Someday, this fragile, delicate balance I've managed to scrape together is going to end, and I'll be back where I started, pretending I don't give a fuck about anyone except myself again. Someday I'll be old; a bitter, twisted shell of myself, hating what I've become and loathe to change in a world always moving forward.

I know all of this; can see it clearly in my mind, and I know it will happen almost exactly as I say- it just doesn't matter right now, because what I've got is worth holding on to. I'll fight with my last breath to keep this fucked up, unhealthy excuse for a relationship alive; would probably fight for it harder than she ever will, actually.

Not that she would ever ask- it's a silent, tenuous link between us, a frail silk thread of trust and understanding which holds us together. We hate each other. We fight, and fuck, and spit insults from morning to night, but somehow we work better than anything either of us has ever had before.

It all started years ago now; before anyone had heard of that Shilo kid, before the fated Opera when everything turned upside down.

I knew who she was, of course- there isn't anyone who gets to be blissfully unaware of her presence somehow, and I was no exception, though I had often tried. She came sashaying up my alleyway, eunuchs in tow, and suddenly it was like someone had popped both my eardrums and the world had gone silent. I wasn't even looking- I had better things to be doing like shooting up some dumb kid with enough Z to knock out an elephant- but I could _sense_ the palpable change in the atmosphere, could hear the hushed whispers behind me. I turned, curiosity piqued, and there she was. Amber fucking Sweet, hands on her hips and glaring at me imperiously like I was supposed to get on my knees and fucking weep at her mere existence.

I looked at her blandly, somehow knowing it would piss her off, and shrugged. "Get in line."

"I want a hit!"

"Get. In. Fucking. Line," I repeated slowly, making sure to enunciate as though speaking to a deaf child.

She snarled, and her hand flew up, slapping me hard on the face with a resounding _smack_. My junkies let out a collective gasp of awe.

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes stinging. "Get in that motherfucking line, you whore, before I punch you in the fucking nose and cost your Daddy another few grand to fix it. I'm sure he'd love the explanation."

I think it was the fact that I kept my voice pleasant, my expression neutral that got through to her. Her precious name, her ever changing face, and her money would get her nowhere here. She stormed to the end of the line and stood looking at me with a thunderous expression that only darkened as I continued on. Looking back now, it was hysterically funny, but at the time I was just too busy watching her surreptitiously. The curve of her body was all natural, I knew; the face, the breasts, and the hair were not. She was strangely appealing despite that, a thin veil of arrogance masking what was probably huge insecurities and vulnerability. I wanted to worm my way under that mask, find out what really made her squirm.

Eventually of course, her turn came, and I folded my arms as she stepped forward. "You got cash?"

"I'm Amber Sweet!"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm Graverobber. You got cash?"

She looked at me for a moment, open mouthed, as though completely unused to being treated like this.

"Shut your mouth or you'll catch flies," I sighed. "Now, my money."

"I didn't bring any," she said finally, flushing angrily.

"Oh I see. You thought your winning charm and personality would get you a free hit- or perhaps you just assumed I gave a shit who you are," I replied with a mocking bow. "Tough luck, princess. We're all scum here."

Her mask slipped, and with interest I saw a real desperation underneath.

"I need a hit."

"Say please."

"Give me a hit, you low down bastard!"

I grinned, shaking my head. "Tut tut, miss Sweet. Such language. Your name hardly befits you."

"Give me some Z before I have you shot."

"Resorting to threats now? One word. That's all I want, and you can have it for free this time. The decision is yours."

The silence was thick, heavy. We looked at each other and I could see the war waging behind her eyes. It was fascinating. _She _was fascinating, and it was beautiful.

"Give me a hit...please."

Smiling, I took a vial from my belt and loaded my gun wordlessly, choosing the place I used on most to inject, the inner arm. She sighed deeply, slumping into the arms of her eunuchs, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she lost consciousness. They carried her off into the dark and I stood thoughtfully long after she had gone.

Of course, she came back- there'd be no story without that, would there boys and girls? And then this would be pointless.

There was a gap of maybe two, three weeks before I saw her again. This time I saw her coming, and she was without her bodyguards. She slunk up my alleyway and joined the back of the line without protest. I grinned to myself and carried on, sending my customers away one by one in happy, glow induced stupors.

"Miss Sweet, you grace me with your presence once more," I greeted her, giving her a bow only slightly less mocking than the last time.

"Shut up, vermin, and give me my hit," she muttered.

"Got my money?"

"Please?"

"Nice try, but that only works once. This time you're going to need to pay up or scram like a good girl."

"But- I-I want a hit!"

"I'm sorry, did I stutter? You heard me."

Sullenly, she paid up and I bowed again, extravagantly, tugging an imaginary forelock with a sarcastic "Much obliged, guv'nor."

She rolled her eyes, but soon lost all her focus as I gave her the hit she craved and sent her on her way with a none too gentle shove. "Please call again," I hollered after her, cheerily.

There were a few visits after that, nothing out of the ordinary- she learned to pay, and she learned to ignore my insults until I began coming up with ever more interesting and colourful ones to get a reaction. It worked every time, inspiring her to add her own deliciously vicious insults to the mix and making our interactions the source of amusement for my customers each night as we whipped curses and blows at each other.

I found her endlessly interesting; she was clever, driven, focused- a worthy heir to the Geneco throne, certainly more so than what I'd seen of the boys. Yet she came back to me for black market glow. Thrill seeking, perhaps, though it seemed as though something deeper was the reason. I hadn't figured it out yet, and it was fascinating. She was hard and vulnerable in equal measures, and every time I saw her it felt as though I was getting closer to fathoming out why, to finding that one wound, that sore spot which would show me who she really was.

Finally, I did find it, and it shifted our whole relationship into another direction.

We'd been trading blows as well as barbs for a few minutes, when inspiration left me and I was given the opportunity to either back down and face humiliation or just to throw whatever came to my mind. Clearly, I went with the latter.

"I can barely look at you, you're so fucking ugly," I spat after a pause to grope for the words. "I see why you change what you look like so often, bitch- who could bear to see that in the mirror every morning?"

I realised it hadn't been taken in the usual way when she went silent and pale, trembling very slightly as she fought for something internally. We were alone in the alleyway by this point, and she glanced around for a moment before asking something completely unexpected.

"You really think I'm ugly?"

Taken off-guard, I couldn't think of a lie before I answered. "Of course not. You're fucking beautiful, if you'd stop cutting yourself up."

I winced, waiting for the slap, but it never came, her eyes the only part of her which betrayed her reaction- hope, happiness, perhaps something more which was unfamiliar to me.

"Really?"

I shrugged, which was apparently as good as a nod, and she smiled at me. It was the first time I'd seen a genuine smile from her, and it was dizzying, like sunshine after a thunderstorm. I felt my heart actually miss a fucking beat, for Christ's sake. She handed over the cash without another word, the discussion clearly over, and she stumbled off full of the glow again. I tried to decide how I felt about having found her weakness. She thought she was ugly, deep down. It probably _was_ why she had turned to surgery, at first anyway.

It was almost sad, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen changing herself, scarring herself, in a desperate bid to be pretty. And I couldn't even tell her to stop. I didn't even feel satisfied about managing to hurt her.

I just felt kind of sick inside_. God, I'm a bastard_.

The next time she turned up, I gave her a subtle nod and watched as she parted my crowd of junkies with a single glance. Her days of waiting were done, and I knew she'd never consent to queue again as she stalked towards me, her eyes unreadable for once, my customers edging away to the sides of the alleyway with breathless whispers and eager expressions of hero worship which were rather revolting.

"You got my money?" I asked- our usual greeting.

"No."

"Then fuck off, bitch," I grinned, pretending to turn away.

"Give me a hit, you little street-rat."

"You can't pay."

"There's other ways to pay," she said cryptically, and I didn't understand until she pushed me against the wall roughly, the closest she'd ever been to me willingly, and I choked back a groan with only God knows what will I had as she pressed herself against me, the scent of her perfume sweet and intoxicating, her breath on my neck.

"Oh, fuck," I hissed between gritted teeth, revelling in the sensation for a moment before shoving her back, hard, and twisting so I could push her against the brick instead. "Why would I want to fuck you, whore? I'd probably catch something."

The fact that my cock was already achingly hard and pressed against her hip betrayed my lie somewhat, but she played along for the moment, smirking at me with mischief dancing in her newly-blue eyes.

"Oh Graverobber, I think I'm in more danger of catching something from you. Rabies, perhaps. You do behave rather like a rabid animal. Drool everywhere."

"At least you don't flatter yourself with the thought I'm drooling over you."

"I do hope not, you filthy creature. I've just had my hair done."

I looked into her eyes, saw the invitation there which she wasn't going to voice, and grinned viciously, kicking her legs apart with the toe of my boot and gripping her throat with one hand, keeping her pressed against the wall. She gasped softly, shuddering, and dragged me closer to her with sharp nails I could feel through my coat.

"Alright then bitch, I'll play your game," I growled into her ear, biting it roughly and then moving down to dig my teeth into her neck, hearing her whine in half-hearted protest even as she arched against me. I slid my free hand down her body, under her skirt, feeling her writhe under my touch.

"A fuck for a hit, sound about fair?" She only gasped again, wordless for the moment as I pushed two gloved fingers into her cunt, a disappointed whine escaping as I drew them out again.

"Shut up, slut," I snarled, shoving them back in and smirking at her pained whimper before pulling out.

Fuck, this was ridiculous. I was so turned on I could barely think, could barely think outside of fucking her hard, making her scream, wanting her _now. _I groaned softly, unbuckling my belt and undoing my jeans before I could come to my senses, and grabbed her hips roughly, slamming my cock into her and hearing her scream distantly, as if through fog. I pushed her hard against the wall, balancing her weight, and fucked her. There's no other way to say it- it was hardly lovemaking, was nothing except two animals tearing at each other, her nails in my skin, my teeth in her neck. I knew she was sobbing, could feel her shuddering against me, but I could hear her telling me not to stop, to fuck her harder, and I growled into her neck and bit hard enough to draw blood and kept going until she finally screamed wordlessly and came, her nails drawing blood on my back and sending me over the edge right after her, snarling against the hollow of her throat. I leaned forward heavily, letting her back down to the ground and pressing my forehead against the brick next to her head, panting. She said nothing for a long moment, her own breath hitching and her arms still wrapped around me. Finally I pushed myself away, smirking at her out of habit. She spat at me. "Fuck you, you smug bastard. Give me my hit."

With a shrug, I loaded my gun and pressed it to her inner thigh, allowing the pad of my thumb to brush lightly over her clit and grinning at the suppressed shudder that ran through her just before I squeezed the trigger and sent her soaring. Then for once, _I_ walked away and left her in the gutter, my mind replaying the last half hour incessantly. Best sex of my life, and hell let's face it- I've had a fair amount.

It went on like that for a while- she showed up feigning poverty, and I played my role of over-generous dealer perfectly every time, rolling my eyes and trading insults until the inevitable moment where we both gave in and just fucked against the dirty brick of my alley, hard and fast and filthy. She was kinky as all hell, much more than I would have every given her credit for- loved it when I choked her, when I slapped her, spat on her, called her the most degrading, disgusting names I could think of. Anything I could think of, she loved, and it became my next challenge to find new and interesting ways to fuck her in our limited circumstances.

Neither of us realised at first when the whole thing changed; why would we even think about it when we were barely admitting to ourselves that we were doing anything more than fucking? It didn't matter that she was coming to see me every night, or that I'd stopped protesting when she dismissed my customers with one withering look. Didn't matter that I saved the best glow for her, or that I'd harvest extra just to make sure she never went short. Didn't even matter that she'd taken to using my actual name- Graverobber- rather than a plethora of insults strung together. Was just business, was a deal and nothing more, right?

Like fuck.

Guess it took us a few months to figure out we were in what could probably pass for a relationship. We were arguing after sex one night, which should have been an indication in the first place.

"You ripped my new dress!"

"You can buy a new one."

"This was a one off, you bastard."

"Oh god, shut your mouth! You can pay anyone in the fucking city to make you a new one. You weren't complaining when I tore it off you."

"You just don't think I look good in it, do you."

"What? Don't be fucking stupid, you look fine in it."

"Fine?"

"Alright, you look beautiful in it. You look goddamn hot in anything you wear, Amber! Is that better, your royal fucking highness? Would you like me to grovel at your feet?"

"Buy me a new dress."

"...fine."

She smiled and skipped off into the alley. Unthinkingly, probably distracted by the thought of the money I was going to have to part with to keep her happy, I called after her, teasingly.

"Hey, don't I get a goodnight kiss?"

We never kissed. Not even when we were fucking. It just didn't happen. So I was somewhat surprised when she slunk back and kissed me, once, on the lips, before turning away again and disappearing with a wicked little smile.

I realised why she was grinning- I'd gone bright red and was standing there like a complete idiot, slack jawed and foolish.

The next time I saw her, it was awkward for all of ten seconds- until, that is, she shoved me so hard against the brick that I felt my teeth rattle, and was kissing me. Hard, vicious, claiming kisses that burned and sent my brain packing. I couldn't help but respond, shoving her back, biting at her lips, wanting them bruised and swollen. I was growling low in my throat, twisting my hands into her hair and tugging brutally, taking control of the kiss and turning it rough, possessive, almost painful. I could hear her whine, could feel her nails in my back as she clawed at me, pulled me closer, arching her body against me.

We fucked that time too; but I can honestly barely remember it compared to that fucking kiss. I knew I was lost for sure then.

And now we're back at the beginning, kids. We're not quite "together" but we're in a relationship. We fuck, we fight, and we even have moments where we get on- I wonder why those are the scariest, sometimes. Truth is, I hate her. Funny how hate feels a lot like love, isn't it? A thin line, they say. So thin it's invisible, as it turns out. Not like in the fairy tales. No happy ever after, no sunset or white horse, no grand wedding and no happy honeymoon. Just dirt, and sex, and sweat; Just filthy words and filthier deeds, unspeakable things done in grimy alleys and abandoned houses, and the constant fighting that comes with two people far too alike to ever admit it.

I know which I'd choose any day.


End file.
